


Our Strong Arms Be Our Conscience

by bookoftheazuresky



Category: Tales of Graces
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 09:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6149766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookoftheazuresky/pseuds/bookoftheazuresky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At this time of the year, the Knight Academy’s salle was empty. The greater part of the student body had left for the summer, returning home to their families for a brief respite from their training. So there were no observers to see the King and his honorary knight preparing to face off against one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Strong Arms Be Our Conscience

**Author's Note:**

> Done for the tumblr prompt of "OTP sparring."
> 
> Title is from Richard III, "Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law."
> 
> I need to write more...

Asbel and Richard were both very accomplished as swordsmen. While Richard had perforce begun earlier in his study of the art, Asbel had subsequently made up the difference with his natural enthusiasm and his much more straightforward pursuit of the skills. Richard’s study of combat had been spread between the sword and the skills of an arte _caster_ rather than an arte _user_ , not to mention the fact that he had to fit in the practice between all the other lessons required of a future ruler. So it was little surprise that Asbel was a better all-around swordsman than Richard was.

What Richard _did_ have over Asbel was that he was more technically proficient. Asbel did _not_ use one of the styles commonly taught at the Windorean Knight Academy- Malik had spent most of the year he’d instructed Asbel guiding him to develop his own style off of one of the more obscure forms. It was a testament to Malik’s skill as an instructor that he had observed that Asbel found the precise forms of the Windorean styles stifling and built from a solid foundation into something that barely resembled it predecessor.

Which was what made this whole exercise a bit silly in Richard’s opinion. Asbel already _had_ a fully developed sword style- asking Richard to spar while he was intending to use a form he wasn’t even that good at made no sense. It wasn’t as if Asbel was going to be graded any longer on how well he could use the classic forms. Still, Richard couldn’t refuse Asbel anything, especially something he was so enthusiastic about as swordplay.

At this time of the year, the Knight Academy’s salle was empty. The greater part of the student body had left for the summer, returning home to their families for a brief respite from their training. So there were no observers to see the King and his honorary knight preparing to face off against one another.

Richard tapped the training blade against his thigh. He’d taken the measure of the unfamiliar rapier already- it was made in the same style as Fame and Faith, a sword that fit in his hand all too well considering the use he’d made of it. Other than a lingering uneasiness, there was nothing about the sword he’d selected that would throw him off. Asbel was still lingering over his decision, however. He finally lifted a standard knight’s blade off of the rack, flipping it to test its heft. With a decisive nod, he strode to stand opposite Richard.

“Ready, Richard?” he asked, taking up the first stance.

“I am,” Richard confirmed, his body automatically straightening to put his shoulders back and angling to minimize his silhouette. He raised the blade into a salute then down into guard.

“Begin!” Asbel said. He didn’t immediately move, but scrutinized Richard intensely. The king waited patiently- one of the benefits of a rapier was its flexibility in countering.

Asbel moved first, as Richard had expected. He’d switched to a two-handed grip with this blade, which meant his swift draw was lacking. Richard retreated rather than take the force of it, sliding past the lunge to make his own extension. This style really brought out Asbel’s reckless side, he noted absently as he deflected a powerful downward slash. If it was a real fight, he’d push him off balance and cast Soul Reaper while he was recovering.

Asbel pursued him across the salle, the training blade lashing out again and again to try and cut off Richard’s retreat. Richard continued to give him nothing more than a flick of his blade in a parry, taking minimal force and refusing to let Asbel corner him. Rapier work was like dancing- it required precise footwork, an exquisite sense of timing. He lost himself in the intricacies of advance and retreat, happy to let Asbel set the pace.

Panting, Asbel backed off. Sweat gleamed on his flushed skin. “Come on, Richard!” he said in frustration. “I know you can counter me.”

“Ah, but waiting has its own advantages,” Richard responded. True enough. He’d allowed Asbel to become tired and could now strike at leisure. The real reason was more like he hated the thought of attacking his friend- he’d done it too much already.

“Take this seriously,” Asbel scolded. If it wasn’t about the sword, the knight would never have dared to criticize him so. Still, he wasn’t wrong. Richard had been taking this lightly rather than giving his partner the consideration of his full skill. It was rude.

“Very well.” Exhaustion dulled Asbel’s reflexes- he barely jerked out of the way of the tip of Richard’s blade aimed at his throat. Richard bent the lunge into a slash, again barely avoided. Rather than let Asbel get into his best range, Richard kept close, tracing the pattern of his vital points with the rapier’s tip. Now Asbel gave ground, taking the hits near the hilt of his blade and no doubt jarring his arm. Asbel twisted his sword to try and get it between them. If Richard let him do that he’d bat the lighter blade aside.

He snaked his blade past Asbel’s attempt at a guard and rested the rapier at the curve of Asbel’s throat. Richard became aware of the rush of blood in his ears and the air sharp in his lungs. Asbel was likewise panting; he’d been pushed up against the wall with the momentum of the fight. His head was tipped back, baring his throat to Richard’s gaze- to Richard’s _blade_.

He’d had this dream before. He’d told himself afterwards it was Lambda who had prompted the dreams, the desire to have Asbel at his mercy born from Lambda’s need to exert control over anything that might hurt him. Standing here without Lambda as an excuse, Richard was sharply aware that the assertion rang hollow. To have Asbel as his own was what he’d wanted. He still wanted it, with a selfish and tearing passion.

“I asked for it, didn’t I?” Asbel laughed, breath still heaving his chest. His cheeks were flushed from exertion, utterly enticing. “Richard?” he asked, suddenly concerned. The training blade still pressed lightly against the soft skin of his neck. A drop of sweat rolled down Asbel’s cheek.

His self-control snapped. The rapier dropped from his slack hand, landing with a clatter. Richard didn’t kiss him so much as fall into him, hands fisted in white fabric. Asbel gasped into his mouth, a sound that fired his blood. He had just enough sense to keep the kiss something like chaste and not take ruthless advantage of Asbel’s weakness.

Then Asbel’s hands were resting on his waist and even that good intention fell away. He pinned his knight to the wall, taking full advantage of his height to gain a proper angle for the kiss. Asbel whimpered into his mouth, hands digging in to Richard’s clothes. His lips moved tentatively against Richard’s, sweet and inexperienced.

_Oh_ , Richard thought. He didn’t have to rush this. He gentled the kiss, no longer seeking to lay claim to Asbel with all of the passion of their seven-year separation. Asbel’s body softened against his as the tension leaked out of his grip.

Their lips parted as Richard hauled in a deep breath. Asbel was even redder and more out of breath than he had been when they had started. “Richard,” he croaked.

His brain was quietly screaming at him that he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t help loving Asbel, but he could help _this_. Then even that thought was gone as Asbel’s hands tightened and he leaned up towards Richard’s mouth again.


End file.
